


the backstage pass

by ggwynbleidd



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Power Bottom, Rope Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Shibari, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggwynbleidd/pseuds/ggwynbleidd
Summary: A collection for adult works, like Tumblr prompts and drabbles, to go. Each chapter will have the ship name and the description will have content warnings/kinks/etc.
Relationships: Amber/Seth (Metalocalypse), Magnus Hammersmith/Charles Foster Offdensen, Magnus Hammersmith/Nathan Explosion/Charles Foster Offdensen, Magnus Hammersmith/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28





	1. Magnus/Toki

**Author's Note:**

> Magnus/Toki, from the Tumblr prompt “I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”
> 
> No warnings apply.
> 
> Mild orgasm denial, some light teasing.

There was an almost-quiet in the room that preceded everything. There was only the hum of the air conditioner and the sounds of traffic outside of the apartment, people coming and going through the halls, the television of Magnus’ neighbors playing some kind of sitcom. The walls were thin, which made these encounters fun, but challenging.

Toki’s fingers pressed against almost parted lips in a little shush before he settled on Magnus’ hips. He stared down at him and felt a little smile tug at the corners of his mouth. There was a way Magnus looked when he got like this. A needy desperation that could be best applied to commercials for local animal shelters, eyes wide and needy and sad, lips pulled into an almost comical pout. 

Especially as Toki wiggled his hips a bit and felt the twitch of an erection against his skin. Even that little tease had Magnus squirming. Toki watched as hands crawled up his thighs and onto his hips before there was an attempt from Magnus to roll his hips upwards fruitlessly. He was weighed down, and not even inside right now, but that motion was something Toki absolutely hoped he would repeat.

“Now, holds still,” Toki spoke with a grave seriousness as he leaned to reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand.

The bed creaked under the shifting of weight and the headboard could best be described as rickety. It had made Toki nervous at first but Magnus had reassured him once that his neighbors were shitty and he hated them, and that they fucked loudly in the middle of the afternoon, too. So Toki moved without care. All the noise the bed made was just a reminder to talk Magnus into letting him buy a new mattress for him. But that didn’t matter at the moment and his thoughts returned to the matter at literal hand. The slick coating on his fingers was cold and dripped between the gaps of his skin onto Magnus’ body below him. It was almost excessive, but too much lube didn’t kill anyone, and watching the way that Magnus jolted at the cold on his skin was a treat on its own.

Toki reached behind him and groped blindly. Once, twice. He could feel it, but feeling and _feeling_ were two dramatically different things. But his goal rested velvety soft and hot between his fingers soon enough and it earned him a relieved sigh from Magnus.

“Remembers what I tells you, right?” Toki asked.

“To tell you when…” Magnus swallowed heavily as Toki’s hand slowly gilded up his shaft. “...when I’m close.”

“Now, I wants this to last, you knows,” it was a gentle admonishment. Agreed upon teasing. There was flattery to be had in a partner who was so excitable. “Gotta be fun for Toki, too, right?”

“R-right,” Magnus stammered out, breath catching as Toki’s thumb rubbed gentle circles.

Toki leaned forward for a second before a shiver of his own raced up his spine, sinking back against Magnus’ hips and slowly taking in the feeling of being penetrated, There was that sinking feeling, a little stretch, that certain part of Magnus’ dick that made it feel like _too much_ until you soldiered past that part, and suddenly it slipped inside like it was made to be there.

Magnus let out a little noise in the back of his throat. A hoarse, raspy rumble from his chest. And there was a second noise as Toki’s hips rocked forward, and a third as his hips rocked backward, until the silence of the room was broken. It was no longer the air conditioner and shitty neighbors, but that squeaking mattress, the strained grunts from Magnus, the soft pants of exertion from Toki.

“Ohh, fuck,” Magnus huffed quietly. His fingers dug into the muscles of Toki’s thighs, nails cutting pale crescents into the flesh. And Toki watched as the that had tinted his face slowly crept down his neck to his chest, turning dark and ruddy and blotchy, hidden in the olive of his skin and the greys and browns of his chest hair. “ _Fuck_."

Then he rolled his hips upwards again and Toki lifted himself to allow that cooperation and joint motion. It was refreshing, a slower grind and drag to combat Toki’s quick pumping above him. And Toki almost overshot lifting up his body and there was that danger of Magnus slipping out entirely only for there to be another, more aggressive thrust from the man below him. 

“Oh, good jobs,” Toki cooed in a soft breath, hand reaching from supporting himself to touch Magnus’ cheek. The hand traveled for a moment before settling at Magnus’ thin throat. He could feel the fluttering, excited pulse and he watched as Magnus’ eyes lit up. “No, not today. You gets too excited.” 

He offered him a sad smile as Magnus pouted. But Magnus accepted his fate, and accepted his role for today’s game, despite the way that his grip on Toki’s hips tightened. Toki’s eyes fell to see the tips of Magnus’ fingers flushed white with exertion, his face red, the thrusts from him suddenly fast and jagged. Magnus was always frustratingly sneaky with this sort of thing. He thought he was clever, keeping his mouth shut. But he always had so many little _tells_ and Toki found the behavior endearing and annoying at the same time. 

Because he knew what all of this meant - Magnus just wasn’t saying it. 

Like he was supposed to.

So Toki pitched forward suddenly, supporting himself on shaking arms, and Magnus tried a few wayward thrusts up into the empty air. He leered down at him with a grin, taking in the hazy and confused look on Magnus’ face. 

“I don’t cares how goods it feels, you’d better nots cum until I tells you,” Toki chuckled as he spoke. He had wanted this to last, after all. And if that meant the occasional break or two so be it. 

“Sorry,” Magnus croaked under him. “Please. Please, don’t stop…” 

“I won’ts,” Toki reassured him. 

He reached back and smiled at the keening noise from Magnus as he resumed the rocking of his hips. 

“You are always so goods for me,” he said with a little chuckle. His fingers teased under Magnus’ chin and tilted his head so they made eye contact. “You’ll be goods for me todays too, right?” 

“Yes,” Magnus whined. His back arched as Toki pinched a nipple to correct him. “Yes, _sir_.” 


	2. Amber/Seth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber/Seth, from the Tumblr prompt “Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”
> 
> No warnings apply.

The sound of the party cut off almost entirely when the door to the coat room was closed behind them. There was the thrum of conversation, the bass of music, the distant rumble of a party that they were no longer involved in. There were hands on her shoulders that snaked to the back of her neck under hair to work on pulling it from its bun. That was something that was always a bother, a pain in the ass to fix. But he loved her hair, so she allowed it. Usually.

“God, look at you,” Seth mumbled under his breath against Amber’s ear. His fingers fumbled with the zipper of her dress until it was finally tugged down past her shoulders, resting at her hips.

A peal of laughter near the door made both of them jump. It was like sneaking off at a party in Tomahawk all over again. Except this was Sydney, and there was bouncing Eurodance garbage to listen to instead of Korn or Slipknot. Things that Amber didn’t listen to regardless. That was Seth’s choice.

Oh, but this was her choice. A hand balled in his tie, nails gently running under his suit jacket and over his shirt, a heel prodding gently at him from under the table. All things that got her what she wanted, which was where she was right now, pressed against a wall with the occasional shawl and jacket brushing against her. Seth pulled away with lips smeared a dark purple-red from her lipstick and face flushed red and pupils tiny pinpricks in his eyes.

Hands gently tugged at her dress further, tried to shimmy it past her hips entirely, but she held her hands firmly over his and gave him that little _look_. The obvious sort of look that was absolutely telling him that he had better not fucking dare, that she was undressed enough save for her underwear, and that he had better try to get himself into a position just as compromising if he wanted to continue.

So he did.

“Look at you,” he repeated as he sank to his knees. His kisses traveled, smudging her own lipstick across her skin, stopping at those prime parts of her body he always did. The dips of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach provided by surgery and a personal trainer. “How am I so lucky?”

“I dunno,” Amber played back into his eagerness. Her fingers stroked through stiffly gelled hair as she talked, a soft mumble under excited breath. “How did you get so lucky, babe?”

“My good looks,” was said between kisses planted on stocking-covered thighs. “My sunny disposition. My sense of humor.”

“Well, you are funny,” she teased him. “Funny looking.”

"Aw, sweetie," Seth looked up at her with a little pout and with a roll of his eyes. "Don't you say that."

"I'll say it again if I have to," with a grin, Amber tugged on his hair and she felt his fingers dig into her skin in response.

Seth knew what this insistence from her meant. He was already there, after all, he just needed to take that extra leap. The skirt of the dress was lifted up until all of it was bunched around her waist in a way she hoped wouldn’t wrinkle. A soft sigh passed her lips as she felt fingers hook her underwear and pull it aside.

The sigh turned into a small moan at the feeling of a flat, warm tongue between her legs, a refreshing heat to the sudden coldness of nudity. Seth eyed her from between her legs and she moaned again, sad this time, as he pulled away.

"You excited?" he asked.

Amber rolled her eyes again and pushed her hips forward.

"I can tell," he continued without paying any mind to her exasperation. Fingers parted her for a moment, teasing at the _idea_ of penetration, before pulling away. "I always know when you're excited. You get so wet, babe."

There was another little exclamation of “Look at you!” before Amber grabbed his hair with _purpose_ and tugged his face forward. Seth took it in good stride, happily even, and accepted it with a loud moan that vibrated up her spine and popped in her brain.

She coaxed his head forward again, a sharp moan pulled from her as his ministrations continued, as fingers slowly slipped inside of her. The rhythmic grinding of her hips - which she realized almost too late was in time with the music bumping through the wall she was shoved against - and the feeling of Seth between her legs were starting to become almost too much. Seth was good at a few things. This was one of them, surprisingly enough, because usually guys who had his choice in facial hair didn’t even do this sort of thing. She’d had plenty of experience with that.

Maybe that was one of his appeals early on in the relationship. Or one of the reasons. He had a slightly (only very slightly) different vibe to him than the rest of the annoying trash that she had hung around with. So now here she was, rich and famous and getting her pussy eaten like a queen while other rich and famous people lurked on the other side of drywall and wallpaper.

Funny how life worked, and the choices that got made and where they lead people to. But Amber’s mind was soon brought back to reality at that tightening inside of her, the building heat in her stomach, the shaking of her legs. Seth’s unoccupied hand hooked underneath her thigh supportively and she felt him chuckle as she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her head rolled back, breath hitching in her chest, legs weakening as her orgasm came in a quick, fuzzy throb throughout her body. She shivered there for a moment and straightened up for a moment. Seth pulled back from his handiwork and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shooting a toothy smile up at her, proud of his handiwork.

“Thank you, dearest,” Amber cooed with a pat on his cheek. The smile on his face fell as she began to try and pull her dress back into place. “Can you zip me up?”

Amber made a show of heading to the door before she was even dressed. A part of the game, a part of this cat and mouse, letting Seth’s ego inflate to go with the tent in dark dress pants.

“Oh babe, you know...you really shouldn’t tease me,” Seth growled against her ear.

Heavy hands grabbed her hips and pulled her back from the door, a shrill, delighted laugh bubbling out of Amber as she was yanked back into the coats.


	3. Magnus/Charles/Nathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus/Charles/Nathan.
> 
> From the Tumblr prompt “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”
> 
> Some mild restraints (ropes).

Yes, Magnus had agreed to this. Suggested it, even. This did not mean that he couldn’t sulk about his current situation. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was naked, and he was rocked hard, and he was being… _ignored_. Ignored! In his own damn threeway, that he had suggested!

Because if he was going to fuck around with two guys, and they were going to fuck around, might as well jump on the chance to have a threesome, right? Right? Right! And so there lay Magnus on the bed as he pouted and watched Nathan and Charles have the time of their lives.

It had been planned that they were going to undress a little. Tease Magnus a little. Put on a show, you know? That sort of thing. And soon enough Magnus was going to be included in some way, shape or form. But he was still just laying there. Doing nothing. The only thumbs in his ass were metaphorical and he found himself shooting a glare at Nathan when the two locked eyes.

“Jealous?” Nathan asked suddenly, voice heavy and husky as he ran a hand up Charles’ spine. And Magnus could _see_ him shiver.

“Nah, man,” Magnus bit back with a roll of his eyes. “I’m fine, you guys have fun without me.”

“Oh,” Charles looked over his shoulder before spinning his body to match his head. “Okay, then.”

“Wha-” Magnus began. He watched as Charles bent over on hands and knees and he wiggled against the ropes. “Hey! Don’t-Nate-don’t you dare- _Nathan!_ ”

Nathan paused for a moment, settled behind Charles, head cocked to the side. Magnus wiggled again and tried to sit up, pull himself forward, and suddenly he had fallen over on his side. With a dramatic huff, Magnus stared at the scene in front of him for a moment longer. His body burned as Charles look at him, eyes hooded and mouth slack as Nathan reached around to stroke him, and all Magnus could do was watch.

This wasn’t fun. Well, it was fun. It was fun in the sense that he was embarrassed about all of this - the position that he found himself in, the inability to even touch himself, the gorgeous men who were currently about to fuck in front of him like a taunt - and embarrassment was one of those many things that got his rocks off. But it wasn’t fun in the sense that Magnus just wanted a hand on his dick, or something.

This was starting to get stupid. So he huffed dramatically again and rolled over onto his stomach. He could hear everything, at the very least. Feel the sway of the bed, picture things in his mind’s eye as he tried to grind against the mattress.

This was officially stupid.

“Look at you, grinding against everything you can,” Charles said in a voice that was almost sweet in how it came out, dripping in almost poisonous honey in its nature. “You’re really desperate for it.”

“Aren’t you?” Nathan followed up with a condescending tone of his own.

Magnus lifted his head from the pouted again. Maybe pouting would get him where he wanted.

Like magic, it did!

He smiled smugly to himself as he was flipped over back onto his back. Charles’ face smiled down at him first and there was a moment of silence before Magnus realized he was sitting almost on his chest. He opened his mouth expectantly, assuming that was what was wanted of him, but Charles simply slinked down his body like water.

“You wanted this, after all,” Charles said as he settled against his hips. “This was your idea.”

“I mean, _yeah_ ,” Magnus admitted with a little shrug of his shoulders. “He yelped in excitement as he felt his legs spread and held up by large, strong hands.

“We maybe have gone a little too far, though,” Nathan acquiesced with a little nod, peeking over Charles’ shoulder. “Sorry.”

"Apology accepted," Magnus offered weakly as he felt his legs get hooked over Nathan's shoulders and heard the snap of a lube bottle's cap. "So. Now I get attention?"

"M-hm," Charles nodded as he leaned against Nathan's chest, framed by Magnus' legs, grinning down at him. "Lots, and lots, and l-lots of attention."

There was that brief raise of Charles’ hips as he got situated but Magnus could barely comprehend it when he slipped inside Charles and two fingers slipped inside _him_. It was terribly wonderful choreography, and Magnus had wondered if that was something they had discussed and whispered about without him knowing.

Who knows. Who cared! Magnus wiggled happily under the two of them and moaned. Whether it was from the gyrating circle of Charles’ hips or the sudden lack of Nathan’s fingers, he wasn’t sure. But Magnus _did_ almost yell as he felt Nathan thrust forward with almost no ceremony, his head falling back against the pillows, the two of them working in a mechanical tandem with his body.

Magnus was saying something. He wasn't sure what, or if it was English because his own brain was barely registering it other than a constant stream of "Please!" and "Oh fuck!" and the odd cry or two for religious figures. Magnus wiggled his arms under him and squirmed for a moment until he realized that yes, this is exactly what he wanted, and at this point he couldn't complain anymore, could he?

So he lay back and enjoyed the ride. Especially as Charles leaned back against Nathan again with a red face, eyes pinched shut, a loud moan of his own rolling out of his body as Nathan's teeth sank into the crook of his neck. So, surely this was heaven. Magnus had died and gone to some new, cool, gay-friendly heaven and he wasn't aware of it. That was fine with him.


	4. Magnus/Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus/Charles from the prompt “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.”
> 
> No warnings apply.

Charles stared at his own reflection for a moment. It seemed alien and distant in the fog of the mirror, some unknown quantity, a stranger staring back at him. But the stranger had his face, his clothes, his glasses, the same man with hungry hands clawing across those clothes to try and tug them off his body. Teeth nipped at his ear and Magnus pulled his face away from his skin to grin at their reflections. With a face covered in the white and black grease paint Dethklok had recently adopted, Magnus’ face looked ghostly in the low light of the dressing room and the smeared mirror, like he was some spirit that had come to touch Charles specifically.

There was the feeling of hands on the waist of Charles’ slacks, and he saw it, and he turned to look at Magnus instead.

"N-no," he said softly, tongue heavy and strangled. He wasn't sure if he was too quiet or if he simply couldn't hear himself over the sound of his blood rushing through his ears and the sound of the other band playing outside. "Not...not all that."

"Okay, okay," Magnus soothed and kissed his temple gently. "It's okay...later?"

"Later," he confirmed with a shiver as a long beard trailed across his neck.

Cold, long fingers instead moved to the front of Charles' pants, tugged the zipper down almost tooth by tooth, and reached inside. He jolted at the sensation and felt his face grow even hotter, something he thought had been impossible given his previous blushing. Magnus hummed in his ear as his hand wormed through his clothing until they landed on exactly what they wanted. There was another devious chuckle from the guitarist as his erection was pulled out into the open air.

The fully open air now, in the dressing room that wasn't even really a dressing room, of some shitty local venue that had decided to let Dethklok play. A few hundred thoughts began to bounce in Charles' head like somebody had busted a gumball machine in his skull. Would the venue owners let them come back if someone saw this? Would Magnus make the rest of the band late? Would Charles' reputation suffer for this? Was this just something he shouldn't do? He knew that he could say the word and Magnus would be off of him in a second. But that was another question - did he want that?

As Magnus' hand began to work in slow, methodic pumps, Charles decided that no, he did not. He had been dealing with this half-assed flirting and teasing and outright groping throughout the day during the sound check, during them puttering around the bar with their free liquor tickets, during the time that the rest of the band was unloading the gear and Magnus had occupied himself by shoving his tongue down Charles' throat. He could do this and in his own brain reciprocating was some kind of cruel little punishment to Magnus, as much as he knew that Magnus relished in that kind of edging and denial.

This was fine.

If it stopped being fine, one of them could fix it, and Charles just let his body relax to enjoy himself. A moan, quiet and embarrassingly high, came out on a little exhale of breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"There we go," Magnus whispered in his ear. Apparently he had realized Charles had been holding his breath. "That feel good?"

All Charles could manage was a nod. He didn't want to be too loud, as if a person could be too loud in a place like this, so all he could settle for was a little whimper. He sighed happily as Magnus' free arm snaked around his chest to draw him closer to him, Charles' hands reaching up to hold that arm like it was a life preserve, a way to stop him from sinking into the floor in a combined headrush of embarrassment and pleasure.

"Come on Charlie, tell me," he urged quietly. Charles heard the shift of fabric on fabric, felt the change in his posture, and his eyes drifted to the mirror to see Magnus in an almost full stoop. "Babe, don't be shy."

Charles managed a little squeak as he was pushed forward and his arms had to catch himself on the little table in front of the mirror. His own face grew closer to his reflection and he realized what a mess he actually looked, and he wondered if his collar would be able to hide that little mark that Magnus had made on his skin, and he wondered if-

Magnus' hips rocked forward against him and he felt an unmistakable hardness, and one of the long nails of his picking hand lightly grazed under the head of Charles' cock, and he stopped wondering.

"Don't be shy!" Magnus laughed now and set his chin on Charles' shoulder. Some of the grease paint smudged off on his jacket. Some of it had smudged off on his skin. God. "It's okay. Well-"

Magnus sucked his teeth as if he were bored with what he was doing and his eyes fell on the door.

"I think you forgot to lock the door," he purred against Charles' ear. "That means anyone could walk right in and see you like this. Would you like that, huh?"

Charles' whole body burned at this point, his legs shook, his head hung low. The arm that had tenderly wrapped around his body moved and suddenly hands were in his hair, pulling his head up again to look at himself.

"I know you would, Charlie," Magnus teased before his teeth sank into the exposed skin of his neck again. Charles' breath came out in a delighted, almost pained gasp. "Come on, say something-"

"P-please," Charles managed finally. Magnus looked at him and his face broke out into a grin. "Please, I can't-I can't-"

Magnus' hand slipped away and Charles whimpered. The grin from Magnus fell and he kissed his cheek softly.

"Too much? Want me to stop?" he whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry, baby, I-"

"N-no! Don't!" Charles couldn't help but laugh, jogged out of him as he shivered at the lack of attention on the ache hanging from between his legs. "Keep going. I was just saying-"

He turned his head and tried to crane his neck to look at Magnus directly, lips parted and excited, before Magnus reciprocated the odd angle and kissed him briefly.

"I was trying to say you needed to do _more_ ," he panted out, surprised at his own tone.

Magnus' eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline but he smirked down at Charles all the same. He cast a look at the door, nodded about something Charles wasn’t privy to and began to undo his belt with a loud clatter.


	5. Magnus/Charles...2!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus/Charles, taken from the Tumblr prompt “Touch yourself for me.”
> 
> No warnings apply.

Phone calls weren't uncommon for Charles over the weekend. He had friends, sometimes the boys needed him for things, he even had a few other clients here and there. There were a few exceptions to the usual monotony of his day, and he had hoped that was the case when he picked up his phone as it rang on Sunday.

"Offdensen speaking."

"Hi, Charlie," the voice on the other end was a hushed purr, low and secretive to accommodate four roommates.

"Hi, Mag," Charles replied. "Something the matter?"

"I miss you," Magnus announced. "I'm just layin' in bed...by myself...lonely."

"Is it business or pleasure, is what I'm asking," Charles smiled as he talked, ending his sentence with a good-natured chuckle.

"It's not official business, man," said Magnus. There was the sound of creaking, of fabric shuffling. "I was wondering if, uh, you were free next weekend. Figured I could bring some weed and a movie or two over, we could get pizza, you fuck my brains out, the usual-"

Charles reclined back on his sofa and thought. A guilty note ran through him and he winced apologetically for no one but himself.

"I can't. Sofia has free time, and then my cousin is in town...kinda busy next weekend. Week after next?" he offered sweetly.

"I work then. Goddammit. I could just swing by your office, say hi, sign some papers to look official," he heard a chuckle. "You could have a long lunch...an hour…"

"Not in public," Charles said quickly. “You’d have to pay me to do that in my office. And don’t get any ideas.”

"Your office has a lock. And I have money, we can play pretend that I picked you up-”

"Magnus you are...you're loud…"

Magnus sighed dramatically and groaned. There was another creak, and Charles imagined him rolling around his bed in a fit of restlessness.

"Cuz you do a good job! I can bring, uh, a gag...those are hard to hide...or you could use your tie? Nah, you don't want that spitty the rest of the day. Ah, dammit," another sigh. "Oh well. What are you wearing?"

"E-excuse me?" Charles almost laughed. Surely not. He misheard.

"What're you wearing? Is it lacy? Leathery?"

"Yes, Magnus, I'm sitting on my day off in a nice lingerie set, just on the sofa, for no reason."

"I dunno what you do in your spare time."

Charles laughed.

"I'm in sweatpants and...uh…" he looked down and blushed. "One of your shirts."

It smelled like Magnus, still. A pleasant reminder. Magnus called the various things he left around Charles' house "Hammersmith souvenirs" but Charles wasn't sure if things like a toothbrush and loose socks could count as souvenirs for anything.

"Aww," Magnus cooed on the other end. "Though, funny thing, I am in a nice lingerie set."

Charles knew he was joking - he could hear the smile in his voice. But it was a thought. He imagined the feeling and the sight, soft satin and lace under his fingers to contrast rough skin and body hair, maybe a nice, deep red. Stockings and garters on long, skinny legs.

The blush on his face deepened, and there was a stirring in those sweatpants.

"Well?" Magnus asked expectantly. "What'd you do with me?"

Charles' brain went blank. He hadn't ever really done _this_ before. He had seen jokes about it on television and in movies. Heard about numbers you could call, for a good time they said, though those usually catered to a very different audience than him.

"I'd, ah, undress...undress you. Probably," Charles felt his face burn now. "K-kiss you, that sort of-of thing."

"Just kiss? You'd have me, eager, in a nice thong, and I'd just get a kiss? Shame. God, I'd be going _crazy_...in your lap, grinding on you, begging for it."

"Oh…"

"Yeah ‘oh.’ Surely you'd be in the mood for that?"

"I would. I'd, ah, I'd like that. All dressed up for me. Needy. And I'd...God, Magnus, I'd probably tear you apart, if I could," the words sound odd coming from his own mouth, and he almost wants to laugh to mitigate it, to release the tension swelling in his chest.

"Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"Touch yourself for me," there was a pause. "Please?"

"I am," Charles reassured him softly, free hand slipping past the waistband of his pants and briefs. "Are you?"

There was a breathy moan on the other end of the call that came in a rush of rough air and static.

"Yuh-huh," Magnus sighed. "Now, what was that about tearing me apart?"

Charles' mouth was off before he could even catch himself, and Magnus responded eagerly, and the two slipped comfortably into painting a scene. Magnus, here with Charles, in the bedroom. Those lacy underthings and drab pajamas cast off into the floor and forgotten as they tangled together. Charles would pull Magnus' hair, Magnus would bite Charles' chest, hands would travel and roam just as Charles' were doing at that moment. Phone secured between the side of his face and shoulder, Magnus' shirt was hiked up and Charles' sweatpants were hiked down, one hand busily working at stroking Charles' cock.

Their verbal wandering had gotten this imaginary Magnus on Charles' bed on his back, and Charles could see it as he had seen it countless times. The flush in his body, the excited eyes, the way Magnus would hook his arms under his knees to pull his legs up to his chest. And imaginary Charles was between those legs, dick in hand, ready and poised.

"Fuck…" Magnus interrupted the fantasy for a second. It was a poorly muffled moan, his voice breaking as he spoke. "God, Charlie, I wish you were here...I'm so cl-"

"MAGNUS!" Nathan's voice shot through Charles' head so loudly it felt as if the singer had barged into his own living room, making him jump and squeeze himself uncomfortably. "GET OFF THE PHO-O-O-O-O-ONE!!!"

"Fuck off!" Magnus snapped back, louder, and Charles clamped his lips shut. Did they have a second phone at the apartment? Or could Nathan just project his voice that well? He didn't want to risk it. "Don't, don't come _in_ you fuckin'-"

Charles heard a startled yell from Nathan and a groan from Magnus.

"Don't you knock, jackass?! This is what you get!" there was more muffled conversation, a hand clamped over the mouthpiece of the phone, before Charles jolted at Magnus' voice in his ear again. "Sorry, man, I gotta cut this short. Someone has to call home to _mommy_. I'll call later, okay?"

"O-okay," Charles squeaked out as shame pooled cold in his stomach and snuffed out most of the white-hot arousal. "B-bye, Mag."

"Later, babe."

There was a click and Charles was bathed in awkward silence. He lay there for a moment, still hard in his hand, staring blankly at one of his bookshelves. His free hand balled in his shirt - his souvenir - and he could feel his heart pounding underneath his fist. His other hand twitched before slowly sliding up his length again. And further shame coiled in his stomach as he brought the shirt to his nose as he continued stroking himself, taking in the smell of cologne, and cigarette smoke, and everything uniquely Magnus.


	6. Magnus/Pickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus/Pickles, from the Tumblr prompt “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you.”
> 
> No warnings apply.
> 
> Facesitting, a little bit of blood from an accident.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Moneybags couldn't afford a nicer room?"

Pickles rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind them with a soft click. The room was nice. It wasn’t a seedy motel room, but it wasn’t a five-star suite either. Which is why Pickles had chosen it - not for the discretion put in place by the hotel’s managers, but for the simple fact that it would never be expected for a world famous rockstar to stay at a Holiday Inn. And the less people who expected Pickles to be in a hotel doing this shit, the better.

Because the guys would kick his ass black and blue if they found out that he was sneaking around with Magnus Hammersmith of all people.

“You aren’t picky,” Pickles said with a little sneer, chucking the sunglasses and hat he had donned as a makeshift disguise into a chair in the corner. “Empty your pockets.”

“I’m sorry?” Magnus blinked at him as he sat down on the bed. The mattress groaned under him and he bounced on it experimentally.

“You heard me,” he didn’t need to repeat it.

Magnus leaned back against the bed to worm his hands into his pockets, dragging them out of his jeans with the contents. A lighter, plain red. A wallet, thin and worn. Keys to that van he had arrived in, presumably whatever house or apartment or hole in the wall that he lived in. A crumpled back of cigarettes, the same brand that Pickles had caught himself trying to buy on cigarette runs for a full year after Magnus got kicked out.

“Back pockets, too. And the jacket,” Pickles gestured.

With an exaggerated sigh, Magnus finally just stood and palmed the pockets over his body. A cell phone was sequestered in one of the pockets of his jacket and as Magnus reached up to the other pocket, the one that was still missing a button after years and years, he paused. And finally slipped the whole thing off his shoulders and tossed it into the same chair that Pickles’ own items were in.

“You wanna do a fuckin’ cavity search, too?” he sneered.

“That’s later,” replied Pickles with a smirk. “I’m checking to make sure you don’t have any contraband. You know, knives and shit.”

“Oh, _Pickles_ ,” Magnus jeered as he sat back on the bed. “You think I’d do that? What, tire you out and just shiv ya, like a fuckin’ coward?”

“I watched you stab someone with his back turned. Like a coward,” he sniped.

The smile on Magnus’ face twitched for a moment, an involuntary tic that drew one of his eyelids shut for a brief second, but he recovered with a chuckle as if what Pickles had said was funny. Despite the warning signs, despite it all, Pickles continued with slow and careful footsteps up to Magnus as he sat.

“So, how we doin’ this?” Magnus asked as he tilted his head up to look at Pickles.

“Whaddaya mean?” Pickles asked back. He thought it would be obvious.

“I saw that bag of tricks. You got somethin’ to slip on to fuck me, or do you want me to bend you over?” Magnus’ look turned into a leer as he spoke. Cold fingers slowly trailed up Pickles’ arm and he shivered at the touch. “Been a while, since I got fucked like that. But I’d _lo-o-o-o-ove_ to get a chance at that pussy again. Tell those groupie gossip blogs that all that bass drum pedaling gave you a nice, tight-”

Magnus was cut off with a shove to his chest and he laughed as he fell back onto the bed. Pickles straddled him quickly and he stared down at him with a smirk. The look on Magnus’ face was almost good natured, laughter wiping away a few signs of age, and Pickles couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. They had gone to hotel rooms before, when roommates at either of their old, old places refused to clear out for the night, or were nosy and rude.

It was the same. Magnus looking up at him, hair fanned out underneath him from where he fell, snaking around the patterns on an ugly quilt-like hotel comforter. His eyes were twinkling and excited, crooked teeth were bared in a smile and he was already grinding his hips upwards. Just like the old days.

Except these weren’t the old days. The curls spattered out around his hair were streaked with grey, the fond hotel room memories were from before he even grew out the beard that had the same silver running through it. Despite his skinniness, Magnus’ flesh had softened with age while the skin had turned rough and almost leathery. It was different.

Pickles leaned down to kiss him, and got an up-close look at that dead eye, and felt a pang of guilt. But the guilt was soon erased when his bottom lip was bitten, and hands snaked into the back pockets of his jeans, and Magnus’ breath came out in a dreamy sigh.

“I missed this,” Pickles finally managed as they parted for air. It was stupid to say. He shouldn’t have said it.

“Really now?” Magnus replied in a way that almost felt like he appreciated it. “Well...c’mon and come sit on my face. I’ll tell you how much _I_ missed you.”

Didn’t have to tell him twice. Pickles jeans and boxers were discarded into the floor in a flash and he slid up Magnus’ body. There was a moment’s pause as he gathered brown and silver curls in his hands and pushed them into place with an almost tenderness. Even the act itself - moving Magnus’ hair so Pickles’ knees wouldn’t tug at it - was too much of a kindness. Pickles could kick himself for all of this in the morning, the current guilt that was seeping into his brain like spilled ink going away as he felt thin hands grip his hips and pull him down against Magnus’ face.

A little huff of air escaped him as he felt the warm, wet expanse of Magnus’ flattened tongue against him. Gentle strokes, almost exploratory over each dip and fold it could get to as Magnus reacquainted himself with this specific set of anatomy. He looked down at Magnus to see his face already flushing, his eyes shut, eyes flickering under the lid. And Pickles smiled when he felt those fingers dig into his hips as he rolled his hips encouragingly.

“Don’t pull that shit!” he yelped into the empty air as he felt that same tongue try and wiggle inside of him for a moment. Magnus chuckled against him. “You know that doesn’t do a _goddamn_ thing, you jackass!”

Another chuckle, sending a vibration through his body, and Pickles rolled his hips again. A gentle reminder. _Get to the point_. Magnus took the hint well and Pickles moaned when he felt his lips wrap around his dick. Goal met, Pickles’ body shuddered at the new sensation, Magnus grunting softly as Pickles shifted his position a bit. His hips began to rock in an excited, eager rhythm, body leaning forward just slightly, breath coming out in rough jags of air.

“Shit…” Pickles mumbled into his chest as his chin dipped down. “Y-you know...as much as you talked shit...you really have _one_ good thing you do with your fuckin’ mouth.”

That earned him a slap on the ass. Not enough to hurt, not enough to have Pickles get up and deck him in the face back, but enough to smart and make him moan. And those nails that dug into his skin and dragged down his thigh. He could see them in his mind because Magnus had loved to do that, too. White and pale as they were made, red after a few seconds and angry welts that would settle against freckled skin after a few minutes. Magnus had drawn blood a few times doing that. That was after a two hour session with a strapon, Magnus insisting he could take that, and after those two hours he was a sobbing, babbling mess and Pickles’ back looked like someone had been throwing feral cats at it.

The thought of Pickles repeating that for old time’s sake excited him and he resumed his almost frantic grinding against Magnus’ face. His toes curled at the pressure on his dick, his body shook at that pooling in his stomach, his voice wavered and cracked at the pressure in his brain. He could let himself go. He had earned this, somehow. It was a test. He was...testing...Magnus. Yeah. Because if Pickles could be ass-naked and exposed around him unscathed that meant he was, like, cool now? Or something?

He discarded the thought for what felt like the tenth time that night and continued to chase that orgasm. At the very least, Magnus could provide him that.

“Fuck,” he spat out, hands balling in the blankets under him. He heard a muffled something from Magnus, felt fingers grip him tighter and he took that as encouragement.

So, he offered some more of his own encouragement as he grew closer. A rougher grind of his hips, a different angle, trying to get that feeling to just _happen_. If he let go, he let go and that was going to be great.

“Fuck!”

Face flushed and sweaty, PIckles found himself almost pulling away from Magnus’ face to encourage that humping motion. The scratches on his legs had increased in quantity, Magnus writhing under him, and Pickles was so close he could taste it.

“F-fuck!”

His hips caught at an odd angle, he felt something more cartilage than soft lips against him and he may have heard an offended grunt from Magnus. But that didn’t matter. He just repeated that slam of his hips a few more times. Just a few more times, and he would-

“M-Mah-Magnus-s-s-s!”

It came in a strangled moan and a tightening of his core. With a whimper and shaking legs, Pickles finally came. It wasn’t the best orgasm that he’d ever had but the night was still young. Sitting and whimpering for a moment bent over on his elbows, he felt a pat on his thigh. And another. Until the patting turned into a frantic little slap and he lifted himself off and rolled over onto the bed.

Magnus bolted upright with a gasp like he had been drowning.

“Jesus!” he barked out, holding his nose. “Dude, what the fuck-”

Pickles lifted his head and as his brain cleared from its daze, saw that Magnus’ nose was bleeding. And for some reason, Steve Urkel’s voice slinked into his head in the worst way.

_Did I do that?_

“Shit, man...s-sorry,” Pickles sat up. Reached out and gently moved Magnus’ hand from his face. “Is it bad?”

“You made me bleed! It’s bad!” Magnus’ voice pitched up into a whine that told Pickles he was just fine, actually.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “Get cleaned up, man. And hurry back.”

“Why?” Magnus rolled his eyes. “So you can kick me out?”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Magnus’. It wasn’t the most ideal taste in the world - the sharp iron of blood that had pooled at his lips and the almost-bitterness of Pickles himself.

“I’m not done with you yet.”


	7. Magnus/Toki 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus/Toki.
> 
> No warnings apply.
> 
> Rope play/shibari, mentions of impact play, implied edging (???)

Scarlet ropes, so fine in their weaving they felt like silk, ran across his skin to make him shiver. Cords of it snaked around his arms and thighs, over his chest, around his wrists. Arms fastened behind his back in a gentle hold and legs locked together in place. All with the patience and knotting and braiding of someone who seemed well-practiced at this. The intricate pattern of a makeshift harness that kept the almost elbow length bonds behind his back in place with further security. The ropes stood out against his skin and itched at it, mingled but didn’t snag or tug the hair on his body, were comfortable but a heavy reminder.

Magnus was caught.

His eyes rested on the floor for most of it as he stood in place. The music playing to keep his brain occupied was nothing compared to the waiting, agonizing in its soft volume as he tried to listen to it just so. But the waiting itself was almost fun. Soft kisses trailed along his body with the ropes and calloused hands would wander to pinch and stroke and caress to keep his interest. He had messed around with this stuff before to a point - looping his belt around someone’s wrists, a little length of rope to tie hands behind their backs. But he was never the one ensnared. To be so vulnerable and trapped was not a way he wanted to open up to someone. It had been excuses upon excuses for it. Not in the mood, preferred to watch others squirm under him, couldn’t risk fucking it up and hurting his hands, he was a strict top. All various lies of various shades of white and black in their severity.

But Toki had asked so sweetly, and had been so reassuring, and here Magnus was - strung up like a decoration in the middle of Toki’s bedroom. It was fun and exciting, his mouth dry and his heart pounding and his dick hard, but it was taking forever. There was the hope of a reprieve when his eyes followed another length of rope as Toki tossed it into the air and it fluttered onto a hook in the ceiling. Magnus had thought it was for another model plane or something similar, but in hindsight it was far sturdier than the others.

“Dude, this is taking forever,” he finally complained.

Toki stopped his rigging and tying for a moment to look at Magnus. He smiled and shrugged before kissing Magnus’ face, lips trailing to his neck, to his chest. Magnus’ mouth fell open in a quiet moan as a warm tongue darted out to a nipple and circled it, teasing it stiff. It was a good reminder of why he was here. For a good time. And God, this was already a _good_ time. Even then, Toki pulled away too quickly for anything to really get good, but it was enough to have Magnus squirming again.

Toki tugged at a few ties here and there before nodding to himself. And he circled behind Magnus. Which was promising, and made Magnus straighten his already improved posture eagerly. There were thoughts in his head of what was possibly in store for him now. There was that little flogger with its thin strands of leather that would crack in the air and leave welts without much effort, maybe that? Or would he be blinded and gagged first, deprived of senses and having to guess every move?

Instead, Magnus felt his hair lift from his back and neck as Toki took it in his hands. He felt it shift and twist in his grasp for a moment before hearing the snap of a hair elastic.

“Hey…” Magnus began curiously. “You forget what you’re doing and start playing hairdresser?”

“This ams part of it,” Toki replied as he tickled Magnus’ face with his own braided hair.

A blindfold? With his own hair, maybe? No. More rope in Toki’s hands made Magnus raise his eyebrows in a silent question. There was more movement he couldn’t see as much as feel, a slight pressure in his scalp, and as Magnus tried to tug his head against it he realized his hair was locked in place.

“Keeps your heads up,” Toki explained gently, hand reaching to the nape of Magnus’ neck, fingers twirling the few loose curls that were somehow too short to put up. “I likes to looks at you.”

Magnus shifted in his spot and watched as Toki walked in front of him again. His hands rested on Magnus’ shoulders before running down his arms, his chest, and settling on his hips.

“Done,” Toki chimed.

He didn’t see how they were very done - Magnus was still hard, and Toki wasn’t even undressed.

“So, you gonna fuck me, or-“ Magnus began, still not used to this sort of long, drawn out type of display.

“After all thats?” scoffed Toki.

Fair. This was all too much effort for Toki to just rip those bindings away, slam into him for a few minutes and go about his day. Not that that wouldn’t be fun, too. But Toki walked to his little rolled out display of toys and gadgets and that really got Magnus’ attention. His heart beat so fast he could hear it in his ears even as Toki’s fingers skipped and danced over the really fun implements - that flogger, the little pinwheel thing that looked like a pizza cutter that Magnus couldn’t remember the proper name of, a little crop. Instead, Toki approached Magnus again with a little black vibrator in his hands, twisting and turning it as he got closer.

“After all thats, amst just gonna goes at you,” the smile on Toki’s face was sweet and serene as he talked. “Ams gonna have some _fun_ with you.”

Magnus wanted to open his mouth to say something. He wasn’t sure what. It died on his tongue when he heard the vibrator click on and whatever he was going to say came out in a strangled noise as he felt it press against his cock. His knees threatened to buckle but were held in place with little give as they bent and as his head tried to hang, it was allowed a similar limited range of movement.

“So shy,” Toki teased as his other hand reached to caress Magnus’ cheek. His fingers scraped against the stubble dotting Magnus’ jawline before settling against his throat proper. “I wants to fix that habits.”

“Please…” Magnus wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, other than his hips trying to buck forward against the stimulation Toki was lightly ghosting against him. It was already unbearable, already taking too long, and Magnus wanted something now. That burst of release, taking Toki however he wanted to give himself, the kisses and praise after to show that he had done a good job, and was a good boy.

“And impatients, too,” he smirked before kissing Magnus on his lips. “Don’ts worry. We gots all night.”


End file.
